Proof that Sherlock has a Heart
by la12la3
Summary: A collection of short snapshots showing Sherlock really does care. Rated T in case of content in future chapters. Please feel free to comment and suggest any ideas for future chapters. I do not own Sherlock or any of the lovely characters in this brilliant show.
1. Stage Fright

Sherlock was with John and Lestrade when he noticed the little girl shaking and standing just behind the curtains. They had just arrested a middle school orchestra teacher whom had murdered three women and were now backstage while the children were getting ready for their spring performance.

Sherlock tried to stay attentive as Lestrade handcuffed the teacher, however, when a teaching assistant started scolding the girl, Sherlock immediately turned and walked towards them.

John was alarmed by Sherlock's abrupt motion and followed him towards the crying child. _Great, now a poor child is going to be told how stupid they are,_ John thought. So he was utterly surprised when Sherlock turned to the teacher's aid and interrupted her in the middle of her telling the child that they only had five minutes to pull it together.

"Oh yes, telling her she has a time limit is _just _what someone wants to hear as they are attempting to subdue a panic attack," he glared at the lady and then turned to crouch in front of the girl.

"Now whats your name?" He asked gently, John was too stunned to speak, he never thought it was possible for Sherlock to be gentle.

"Chrissy," the girl stuttered in between labored breaths and tears.

"Ah, Chrissy my name is Sherlock. I used to have panic attacks often as a child, so I understand how scary they can be. Now what I need you to do is take a deep breath, count to three, and then blow out. Can you do that with me?" Sherlock asked.

John watched in fascination as his usually emotionless friend successfully calmed the small girl.

Chrissy nodded and followed Sherlock as he breathed in, counted on his fingers, then breathed out.  
"Brilliant, Chrissy. One last thing and then you will be ready to go on stage, whenever you are about to panic, close your eyes and spell out your name. As you do so, think of all the reasons why your name suits you, and by the time you open your eyes, your panic attack will be completely gone. Now go ahead and do what I just said." Sherlock told her with an encouraging smile that John had never seen Sherlock do before.

Chrissy closed her eyes and, sure enough, by the time she opened them she had a big smile and had stopped crying.  
"Thank you Mr. Sherlock!" She said and flung herself into his arms.  
Sherlock was startled by the action, but gently patted her back after a second.

"No problem, Chrissy. Just remember those exercises. Now, go knock em dead," Sherlock said with a wink as Chrissy turned to join her fellow classmates on stage.

Sherlock turned to find a rather amused and surprised John.

"What?" Sherlock asked, his face back to its usual stoic expression.

"Oh, nothing. Just didn't know you worked well with kids is all." John replied trying to suppress a grin.  
"Hm." Sherlock muttered as he tried to figure out what that meant.


	2. The First Dance

It was only two weeks till John's wedding and John and Sherlock were having a normal day at 221b Baker's Street. They had wrapped up a case late the night before, so John had stayed over.

John was currently making them tea in the kitchen when Sherlock sighed and put down his paper,

"Okay, you're upset. Why?" he asked

"Huh, what?" John asked and looked over with his brow furrowed.

"You keep zoning over, shifting your feet, and touching your nose. All tale-tale signs that something is bothering you, so what's wrong?" Sherlock asked

John was taken aback that Sherlock had actually bothered to ask, usually Sherlock was in his own world and it was John that was trying to pull him back to reality.

"Nothing, I'm fine mate." John replied with a small smile

Sherlock simply raised his eyebrows and continued to stare at him.

John sighed in defeat and relented, "It's just that, the wedding is only two weeks away and well, I can't… I can't dance. Happy?"

Sherlock leaned forward and splayed his fingers, he seemed to observe John for a moment before responding, "I can teach you."

"You can teach me? Since when do you dance?" John asked doubtfully.

"I am a brilliant dancer, I love it. And why are you not accepting my help when you were complaining just two minutes and fifth teen seconds ago?" Sherlock asked

"Show off." John muttered as he went over to place the tea cups on the side table. "Well, yeah fine. I guess you can teach me."

Sherlock stood up and smiled, "Brilliant." He went over to his desk and turned on his mp3 player to what sounded like a classical violin. He then turned back to John and asked, "Ready?"

"What song is this?" John asked, the song was truly beautiful and perfect for dancing.

"It's your first dance, the one you and Mary asked me to compose." Sherlock replied

"It's perfect. Thanks, Sherlock." John said

"Grand, can we dance now?" Sherlock asked, apparently becoming impatient.

John nodded his head and watched in fascination as his usually stoic friend moved gracefully around the living room with an invisible partner.

When Sherlock was done demonstrating some moves, he grabbed John's hands and showed the red-faced doctor where to place them.

"Um, Sherlock, I think watching you is plenty." John said as Sherlock swung him around the flat.

"Nonsense, you'll be stiff as a board if the first person you practice with is Mary in front of fifty people." Sherlock replied as he spun John in a wide, elegant circle.

This lesson continued for over two hours and John slowly found himself relaxing and, though he'd never admit it, starting to have a bit of fun.

Eventually, Sherlock had John dance around by himself while Sherlock critiqued him.

When John was finished he turned expectantly to look at the detective and he could have sworn he saw a small smile on Sherlock's face.

"So, how'd I do?" John asked nervously

"Like you had a wonderful teacher." Sherlock replied then leaned back and picked back up his paper, dismissing the conversation entirely.

John smiled and looked at his friend and thought again about how Sherlock really did care, in his own odd way.

Hullo everyone! Thank you so much for the brilliant reviews and follows, please continue to post honest reviews and feel free to suggest any ideas for future chapters! You are all amazing, thank you so much!


	3. The Bully

It was a pleasant Saturday evening at 221b Baker's Street. John and Sherlock were both relaxing in the living room of their flat. Sherlock was oiling his violin, while John read the paper. John had just gotten up to get a fresh cup of tea when he heard a loud crash outside their window. John curiously turned to Sherlock to see that the detective was already on his feet, confirming that he too had heard the noise.

John hesitantly walked over to the window and looked out to see what all the racket was about. His shoulders sagged in relief as he saw that it was not armed robbers or any other type of criminal that Sherlock always managed to attract, it was simply some teenage boys pushing another boy around.

John was about to tell Sherlock that he was going to go down and stop them, expecting Sherlock to refute John and tell him it wasn't his problem. However, as John was turning to go down and split them up, he noticed that Sherlock was already going down the stairs, two at a time. John turned to go down the fire escape and try to catch up with the detective when he looked down and saw his friend already rounding the corner to the small ally.

John watched cautiously, not sure what to expect.

"Hey! Stop right there!" Sherlock shouted at the small group of boys.

The threat in Sherlock's voice was evident even from where John stood looking down and the boys immediately stopped taunting the boy and backed up considerably.

Sherlock went over to the bruised boy on the ground and crouched down, seeming to observe if there was any severe damage. While Sherlock was crouched down, the other boys were slowly trying to back down the alley, about to make a run for it.

"Stop moving boys," John commanded in his best soldier voice. It worked and the boys halted as John climbed down the fire escape stairs.

Apparently content that the boy would be fine, Sherlock stood up and turned to the bullies. He observed them for a second before spouting off deductions.

"Single child, neglected by parents, takes out anger on physically inferior boys. Divorced home, father drinks. Rich and spoiled, used to getting what you want, boredom fueled bullying," Sherlock had said all of these things before John had even reached the ground.

"Who are you?" the oldest child asked in disbelief.

"Sherlock Holmes. Now that the introductions are out of the way, I need you all to apologize to Craig," Sherlock said gesturing to the small child cowering behind him.

"No… No its fine, really. They were just, just playing. That's all," the little boy, Craig, stuttered.

"Ah, no worries Craig. They were being bullies and that cannot be tolerated. Believe, they will not bother you again after they apologize. Right boys?" Sherlock asked with a glare scary enough for John to take a step back.

All the boys nodded in horror and quickly said that they were sorry.

"Okay, now leave. Don't bother Craig or any other children again, I will find out," Sherlock said with a steel glare as the boys ran out of the alley.

Once the boys had rounded the corner, Sherlock turned back to Craig and handed him what looked like a business card and said,

"This is my number, call me if they ever bother you again and I will get them a personal cell in jail for a night, though I doubt they will ever touch you again."

Craig took the card with wide eyes and said, "Thank you so much, Mr. Holmes. Really, that was amazing."

"My pleasure," Sherlock said with a small smile, "Just remember, it will always get better. Just keep moving forward and the bullies will eventually go away. Don't give up."

John was shocked at how compassionate Sherlock sounded. He wasn't used to Sherlock showing care for anyone, not even himself.

The boy gave Sherlock a small smile and turned, still gazing at the card in his hands as he turned out of the alley.

Sherlock was off walking back into the flat without ever so much as a glance at John.  
"Sherlock?" the doctor asked and Sherlock paused, keeping his back to John.

John took that as a sign to keep going, "That was really amazing what you just did there."

"Bullies will never stop until someone decides to stop pretending that nothing is happening. Bullying can be stopped; all you have to do is show that someone cares," Sherlock replied factually as he continued to walk away.

John stood still for a second, processing what Sherlock had just said. Finally, it all clicked into place. He had heard Mycroft talking about how Sherlock was often bullied as a boy, which would explain his empathy towards Craig.

John smiled as he went to catch up with his best friend.

**How'd you guys like it? Please review if you have a chance, I love hearing from you guys :D I'm hoping to start updating every Friday, so see you next week!**


	4. John's Sick

Sherlock woke up with a start, something was off in the flat, but he just couldn't tell what. He got his answer by a quick look at the clock, it was almost noon. John always woke Sherlock up before eleven, ranting about how lazy the detective could be. Sherlock got out of bed and went to explore the flat; there was no one in the living room so he immediately went up to John's bedroom.

Once in the hallway, Sherlock heard John cough and Sherlock went in the cracked door to John's bedroom.

Inside, Sherlock saw John sprawled out on his bed, tissues everywhere and constantly coughing. John was sick.

"Sherlock?" John said through a cough.

"You're sick." Sherlock stated as he went over to the doctor to feel his forehead, which was warm, "You definitely have a fever."

"Yes, a bloody awful one," John said.

"And you're coughing, do you have any body aches or nausea?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes and yes," John replied miserably.

"Flu then. Have you called into work?" Sherlock asked as he went into the bathroom to get some pain medications and fill up John's glass of water.

"Hmpf," John groaned in the other room.

"I take that as a no," Sherlock muttered as he walked back into John's room.

Sherlock made John take the medicine and then walked into the living room to phone John's office.

Sarah answered on the third ring, "Hello, this is Bart's Clinic, how may I help you?"

"This is Sherlock Holmes, I am calling to tell you that John is sick and cannot come in to work today. Good bye." Sherlock replied and hung up before Sarah could even process what he had said.

Sherlock then went into the kitchen to make John some tea with honey for his cough. He debated adding a sleeping agent, but decided against it thinking that John already had a lot of medicine in his system.

John rose up on his bed as Sherlock entered the room.

"You made me tea?" John asked, bewildered.

Sherlock _never _made John tea; it was always the other way around.

"Obviously," Sherlock replied as he handed the cup over and proceeded to stand by John's bed.

John sniffed the tea and then looked over at Sherlock with narrowed eyes, "Did you put anything in it? I told you, I don't want to be experimented on again, not after The Wednesday," John said and grimaced as he thought back to the apparent Wednesday that he missed due to Sherlock.

"No, I told you I wouldn't make you miss another day without warning you. There is nothing but honey in the tea," Sherlock replied casually.

It took a few minutes, but as John sipped his tea and the medication took effect, his cough slowly died down. John realized how exhausted he was and slowly slipped out of consciousness, unaware that Sherlock was still sitting on his bed side, watching over him.

John was awoken a few hours later by the touch of a cool cloth on his forehead.  
"Sher?" John mumbled.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. Your fever has broken, so you should feel much better the next time you wake up. Sleep now, John," Sherlock replied gently and watched as John slipped back into sleep.

Sherlock gently pulled the covers up over his best friend and tucked him in. He proceeded to turn off the light and walk quietly back to the door.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock whispered as he softly shut the door.

**Hello everyone! Thanks so much for reading, I really appreciate it! Also, please leave a review, they really help me improve my stories and figure out what you guys like to read! If anyone has any requests for future chapters, don't be shy! Bumblewolf, I will definitely be doing a Sherlolly chapter sometime soon, thanks for the great idea! I'll be updating next Friday, so make sure you check back then :D Have a great weekend!**


	5. Pets

Sherlock had been analyzing some bacteria found in yogurt in a victim's fridge. He had been alone in the lab all morning while John was at work and hadn't even noticed that Molly hadn't come in yet. It was about mid-morning when his lack of coffee altered him to her absence.

Sherlock thought this was quite odd, as Molly a_lways _brought him coffee, black with two sugars. Thrown off, Sherlock abandoned his experiment to go and find her.

He looked everywhere, the cafeteria, morgue; he even did a quick glance into the women's bathroom, which had thankfully been empty.

Around noon, Sherlock started to get anxious. He debated calling Lestrade, but decided to do one final check of the building before bringing the inspector into it.

He was checking the parking deck when he found her.

Molly was curled up in the back seat of her car, surrounded by tissues. Her eyes were red and puffy and she still had fresh tears rolling down her face.

From the picture in her hand, it wasn't hard to realize what had happened. Molly's cat, Toby, had passed away.

Sherlock stood behind the car for a few seconds, debating if he should just leave her alone or try to talk to her. He hated emotions and was terrible at calming them, but he also hated seeing Molly in pain. Finally, Sherlock decided that he would never be able to focus on his work inside if he knew that Molly was outside, alone, and crying in her car. He had to talk to her, if only for the sake of the case.

Sighing, he made his way to her back door and gave a soft knock.

Molly jumped at the noise and immediately a soft blush filled her cheeks as she looked up to find Sherlock staring down at her. _It was only a cat_, that was probably what he was about to say. Or something about how caring wasn't an advantage. Either way, she knew she had to open her door or he wouldn't go away.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Molly asked, trying, unsuccessfully, to smother the emotion in her voice.

"You're crying," Sherlock said as he tilted his head slightly.

"Um, yes I am," Molly added awkwardly.

"I am sorry for your loss," Sherlock said as he gestured to the photo in her hands.

_Stupid, _Molly thought, _I should have hid the photo, then he might think I had an actual reason to cry._

"Oh. It's okay, just a cat," Molly tried to play it off, but her voice broke at she looked down at the picture, she really did love Toby.

Sherlock paused for a second, apparently debating on what he should say next, when he finally asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Molly tried to hide her blush at the thought of sitting in the back seat with Sherlock while simultaneously scolding herself for being such a teenage girl.

She quickly recovered and muttered a "sure" as she scooted over to make room for him.

It was almost comical how much effort it took Sherlock, being the giant he was, to get down into her small car. After he had gotten settled, he casually reached over and closed the door with a soft thud.

They sat in silence for what, to Molly, seemed like an eternity before Sherlock finally spoke,  
"I had a dog once."

_Well that was unexpected; _Molly thought but said, "Oh?"

"Yes, his name was Redbeard. He was my best friend," Sherlock replied like it was the most casual thing in the world.

When Molly failed to say anything, she was too busy processing what was going on, Sherlock continued, "The other boys used to find it fun to gang up on me after school. Mycroft used to come and break it up, but when he went off to university, he got me Redbeard. He was a great dog, used to meet me after school and walk me home. None of the boys bothered me when he was around, Mycroft had trained him well."

Molly was shocked that Sherlock had volunteered so much information about himself; he was usually so closed up and secretive.

Not wanting him to stop, Molly asked, "What happened to him?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. _What happened to him? Really? Leave it to you to ruin a perfectly sweet moment to ask him how his dog died. _Molly scolded herself as she quickly fumbled, "Sorry that was inappropriate. You don't have to answer that."

Looking up, Molly swore she saw a small hint of a smile on the detective's face.

"Molly, stop talking," Sherlock said kindly, "Redbeard passed away while I was in secondary school, during my last year. Thankfully, or maybe not, but I was barely at school that year anyway. Redbeard started declining as my drug habits started to increase. Either way, I am truly sorry about Toby."

At the mention of her cat, Molly started crying again. She had her face buried in her hands when she felt two arms wrap around her tentatively, as if afraid she might pull away. She slowly looked up to see Sherlock wrapping her in a hug.

He glanced down at her nervously and asked, "Is this correct? I've never tried this before," referring to the hug.

Molly gave a small smile and added, "Its perfect."

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John and Lestrade were running around Bart's looking for Molly and Sherlock. Molly had never checked in and they had found Sherlock's experiment abandoned. Needless to say, they were worried.

John was checking the men's bathroom when his phone rang,

"Did you find them?" John asked Lestrade on the other end.

"Yes, parking deck, second floor. Be quiet, you're going to want to see this," John could hear the smile in Lestrade's voice.

With an odd look, John hung up his phone and jogged to the location Lestrade had given him. As asked, he slowed to a quiet walk as he neared the second floor of the parking deck. As he turned the corner, he saw Lestrade standing in the middle of the parking deck, hands in his pockets, and a small smile on his face.

He lit up as soon as he saw John and gestured wildly for him to come closer.

"Well? Where is he?" John asked.

"_They _are both in there," Lestrade said as he pointed to the backseat of Molly's car.

John could already feel the smirk forming as he took in the sight.

Sherlock was leaned up against the door frame, asleep, with his arms wrapped around Molly, who had her eyes closed and was leaning against Sherlock's chest.

"Well that took long enough," Lestrade said with a grin.

"It sure did," John added as he smiled at Lestrade.

The two men then turned and went their separate ways, agreeing to not tell anyone what they had seen, not even Sherlock.


	6. Obviously

The day began just like any other; Sherlock and John were at a crime scene. Sherlock was off deducing an entire life story, while John watched, still amazed even after knowing Sherlock for so long.

The victim was a young woman, around twenty-five, who was found strangled in an abandoned parking deck.

"… also, she was obviously in love with her husband," Sherlock ended his deductions.

Anderson snorted, causing Sherlock to whip around and fix him with a glare.

"Is there something funny about a murdered woman, Anderson?" Sherlock asked coldly.

The outburst caused Lestrade to look up from his clipboard in confusion and caused Donovan to walk over from where she had been standing next to the police car.

"No, of course not!" Anderson replied, "I wasn't!" He added after sensing the disapproval of Lestrade.

"Then what caused you to snort? Not a breathing problem I hope," Sherlock said with mock concern.

"You said that she was in love with her husband," Anderson said with a smirk.

Sherlock's brow furrowed as he replied, "Yes, _and?_ Its easy to tell, she has his name tattooed on her shoulder and her wedding ring is regularly polished."

John looked on with a growing anxiety as to where the fight was going.

"What do you know about love?" Anderson asked smugly, causing Donovan to smirk.

Sherlock, seeing both of these reactions, looked on confused as ever.

"See! I bet you've never loved anyone. I mean, come on, do you even love one person in your life?" Anderson asked, fueled on by Donovan's reaction.

John watched on as Sherlock looked taken aback and replied,

"Of course I do," Sherlock replied stiffly.  
Everyone, including Lestrade who had tuned out a while back, turned to look at Sherlock in shock.

"Who could _you_ love?" Anderson asked exasperated.

"John, obviously," Sherlock said, glancing down at the body and dismissing the conversation.

John stared at his best friend and felt a small smile tugging at his lips as everyone else continued to gawk.

Sherlock looked up and noticed everyone staring. He was confused by their reaction, as he didn't see what he did wrong. He immediately turned to John, his social compass, and asked,  
"Now how was _that_ not good?"

"Don't worry, Sherlock. That was a bit good actually," John said with a smile.

Sherlock still looked confused, but decided it wasn't worth deducing, so instead he just shrugged his shoulders and went back to the crime scene.

Leaving John to watch with a smile and be amazed, like usual.

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**Thanks for reading! This week was just a short and sweet story :) I'm sorry that I keep putting off the Mycroft/Sherlock story, it will happen eventually! I was trying to finish it for this week, but I was already a day late so I just wanted to post a little story that I'd written earlier. Hope you liked it! I plan to have another chapter up next Friday. Please review if you have a second and have a great week! :D**


	7. The Hug

John groaned at the sight of the stairs. He had just come back from the grocery and was now having to do the terrible task of getting the food up the stairs to the flat, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't lift a finger.

"Oh no, I don't need any help at all. He has me buy so much milk for a man that doesn't eat," John muttered while he yanked himself and his bags up the steep stairs.

He walked into the kitchen without a glance at Sherlock. After putting up the food in whatever body-part free section of the fridge, he entered the living room, fully intending to scold Sherlock for his laziness.

However, when he saw the detective, he stopped in his tracks.

Sherlock was sitting and leaning forward with his hands steepled in front of his lips, a glare etched on his face. Following his eyes, John saw that Sherlock's glare was directed at his cell phone, which lay smashed on the floor.

"Um Sherlock, you all right?" John asked tentatively.

Sherlock didn't move his glare but responded,

"The British government and I are not on speaking terms."

"Ah, so what did Mycroft do this time?" John asked, slightly amused.

"The unforgivable," Sherlock responded in an emotionless voice.

It was only then that John noticed how tense his best friend was. Whatever Mycroft had said, Sherlock had actually been hurt.

Sherlock then stood abruptly and went to his room, slamming the door as he went.

John clenched his jaw, angry at Mycroft without even knowing what the older Holmes had said. All John knew was that, whatever it was, had hurt Sherlock; and that took a low blow.

Fuming, John went into the kitchen and picked up his mobile, dialing Mycroft's number.

After going through about six secretaries, John finally got Mycroft on the phone.

"John?" Mycroft asked.

"Hello, yes, Mycroft. Now do you want to tell me what you said to Sherlock that upset him so much?"

Mycroft was silent for a moment and John waited patiently for an explanation.

"You must understand that Sherlock was being more impossible than usual," Mycroft began.

John immediately groaned, knowing that this was Mycroft's way of admitting that he _had_ gone too far.

"Just what did you say and how can I fix it?" John asked impatiently.

He could hear Mycroft's sigh, then, after a few seconds, Mycroft confessed,

"When he refused to take me seriously on a case, I told him his intellect was riding on the same field as Connor Matthew's, his high school bully. I understand that this was impolitic of me."

John took a second to process this information. First, Mycroft had said something absolutely terrible to Sherlock, even for them. Also, Mycroft was admitting what he said was wrong, probably the first time that John had ever heard him admit to anything.

John cleared his throat then began,

"You're right, that is a horrible thing to say. Be here in the next hour to apologize."

John hung up the phone before he could hear Mycroft's argument.

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After hanging up the phone with Mycroft, John went to do damage control with Sherlock.

However, after standing outside the detective's bedroom door for over fifth teen minutes, without a word from Sherlock, John gave up and went to read the paper while he waited for Mycroft to arrive.

Forty minutes later, he was still waiting. Mycroft had five minutes left.

John was just thinking this as he heard footsteps climbing up to the flat. Mycroft had arrived.

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It took Sherlock roughly two seconds to rush out of his bedroom and fix John with a lethal glare.

"What have you done?" Sherlock asked, furious.

"John asked me to come over and apologize," Mycroft said from the doorway.

John resented the fact that he had given the older Holmes a key.

Sherlock huffed and flung himself on the couch, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

"Alright then, go ahead," John prompted Mycroft.

Mycroft cleared his throat and, with apparent strain, said, "Sherlock, I regret comparing your IQ to that of Connor Matthews. Yours is obviously superior."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at that and gave John a curious look.

John tried not to laugh at the look of utter disbelief on Sherlock's face.

"And you say John can control _me_," Sherlock muttered.

"Right well, I must be off now," Mycroft said, clearly uncomfortable, as he turned and swished his umbrella, heading for the door.

"Hold up a second, Mycroft," John said before turning to Sherlock and continuing, "Sherlock you need to apologize for whatever you said to make Mycroft angry enough to slip up."

Sherlock's prior look of amusement immediately vanished, replaced by his stoic and cold facade.

"No," Sherlock stated blandly.

"Yes, now. Stand up and go apologize," John said, harnessing his best military voice.

Sherlock glared at John for a second, before complying. Sherlock was no idiot; he knew that when John set his mind to something, it would be done.

"Fine," Sherlock clipped as he sat up and crossed the room in a stiff fashion, "I apologize for using mom's approval against you, Mycroft."

Sherlock then turned to John, as if to ask for approval.

John nodded his head and then said, "Now hug, both of you."

Both of the Holmes brothers turned to look at the doctor in disbelief.

"No," Sherlock said at the same time that Mycroft said, "Never."

However, John held his stance,

"Yes you will. Hug, _now_."

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to face each other.

"He won't budge when he's like this," Sherlock said.

Mycroft nodded, "I feared you would say that. Well, let's get this over with then."

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked at john, meeting his eyes, silently pleading to not have to hug his brother.

John simply shook his head and gestured to Mycroft with his hands.

"Fine," Sherlock said then slowly and more awkwardly then Sherlock had ever been in his life, he lifted his arms and sort-of embraced his brother.

Mycroft stiffed but slowly brought his own arms up to his brother's shoulders.

It took a second, but the hug slowly relaxed. The embrace lasted for at least ten seconds, and John was thoroughly impressed when the two pulled back and stared at each other.

Mycroft broke the silence when he said, "Well I really should go now, goodbye Sherlock, John," nodding his head to the doctor before leaving the flat.

Sherlock stared bewildered at the door for a few seconds before shaking his head a little and going back to sit on the couch.

"Tea?" John asked, trying to give his friend a little space.

Sherlock gave a distracted nod as John went into the kitchen.

Once alone, Sherlock pulled out his phone and sent a quick text before John returned. The hug wasn't mentioned for the rest of the evening.

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Mycroft's black car was pulling away from Baker Street when he got a text.

"You've lost a stone. -SH"

Mycroft allowed himself a small smile as he took this as Sherlock's way of saying that he enjoyed the hug and replied,

"I fear you may have managed to get even taller. -MH"

Mycroft Holmes then closed his phone and smiled as he looked out the car window, silently thanking John for making him hug his brother for the first time.

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John had just set down Sherlock's tea when the detective's phone vibrated.

Looking down, Sherlock couldn't help the smirk from forming on his lips. He was secretly grateful that John had forced the first physical contact between him and Mycroft, though he would NEVER admit it.

**Ask and you shall receive ;) The long awaited Holmes brothers chapter! Plus a little bonus, protective!John. Hope you enjoyed it! The reviews have been AMAZING, I really love to hear from you guys and if you have a chance please leave a review :) **


	8. Father's Day

John was startled when he walked into the kitchen and saw Sherlock already awake and dressed. Sherlock could sleep all day after wrapping up a case like they did last night.

"Well you're up early," John noted as he moved around to get a cup of coffee.

"Your deductions skills astound me," Sherlock said in monotone.

John barely had time to be offended before Sherlock was up and off, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.

"I'll be back by the end of the day," Sherlock shouted as he took the stairs out the flat.

John stood for a second before shaking his head and going back to his caffeine, Sherlock was up to something but John had decided it was probably best not to care.

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Lestrade sighed as he sat up to turn off his alarm clock. After stopping the insistent beeping, Lestrade swung his legs over to the side of the bed and rubbed his face as he stood up to get ready for work. Today was one of his least-favorite days at the office, Father's Day. All the other men his age would be coming in with a new tie, filled with a homemade breakfast, and hurrying to get out early to go back to their loving families. Where was Lestrade's loving family? His wife was cheating again and they had finally filled for a divorce. They had never had kids and Lestrade didn't have any nieces or nephews to faun over, he was alone.

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The string of curious events started when he got to his regular coffee shop. He was in line waiting to order when one of the barista's he knew called him over.

"Aye! Greg! You're orders been paid for," Brian said as Lestrade walked up the counter.

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked confused as he picked up the drink. It was his usual, black with crème and two sugars, only one size bigger than normal.

"Some bloke came in just maybe two minutes before you and ordered your drink, told me to give it to you and make sure you read the cup," Brian said with a shrug.

Lestrade looked at the outside of the cup and felt a small smile tugging on his lips as he read.

_Happy father's day._

_-SH_

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The next event happened when Lestrade walked into his office, still musing over his coffee. He had always felt a kind of parental-love for Sherlock and God knows he had practically raised the man since his teenage druggie days, well he and Mycroft. He felt warm and happy knowing that Sherlock felt the same way.

He was just turning the hallway when he saw Donovan and Anderson standing in the doorway to his office, staring in confusion.

"Is there something you two need?" Lestrade asked with an edge of irritation.

They both jumped at the sound of the inspector's voice.

"The Freak broke in," Donovan said as she gestured in his office door.

With his brow furrowed, Lestrade walked over and stopped dead as he saw his office.

On his desk, there was his favorite type of scone on a napkin and a small rectangular package.

"Well, no harm done. Get back to worth, the both of you," Lestrade said as he showed them out of the office.

Fighting a smile, Lestrade sat down and unwrapped the package; inside there was a note and a new tie.

_No sure why so many fathers want ties, but I was advised to get you one (blame the store clerk)._

_Dinner at Angelo's tonight at seven. _

_-SH_

Lestrade grinned as he leaned back and took a bite of his scone.

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John was startled when Sherlock suddenly burst into the flat after being gone for most of the day.

"Where have you been?" John asked.

"Out," Sherlock replied vaguely as he walked straight into his bedroom and closed the door.

John could hear him opening and closing drawers and got up to go investigate, but before he was even at the door, Sherlock came out holding two dress shirts.

"Which one?" Sherlock demanded impatiently.

"What? Why? Are you going on a _date?" _John asked, stunned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Obviously not, I have special dinner plans. Which one?" holding the two shirts up to his long torso.

"Er the striped one, now what is this all about?" John asked as Sherlock started buttoning up the shirt that John had recommended.

"I'm taking Lestrade out to dinner," Sherlock said as he continued to button.

John stood in confusion for a second.

Sherlock sighed and looked up, "Don't look so stunned, it's only once a year."

John took this in for a second before he suddenly remembered what day it was,

"You're taking Lestrade out for Father's Day?"

"Obviously, would you like to come? Lestrade likes you," Sherlock said as he turned and threw on his coat and scarf.

"No, no, you go ahead," John said with a knowing smile.

Sherlock looked confused for a second as he tried to decipher John's smile, but ended up just rolling his eyes and leaving the flat without another word.

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Lestrade walked into Angelo's just after seven o'clock. The waiter greeted him and took him straight to a table in the back, where Sherlock was already sitting.

Sherlock looked up when Lestrade slide into the seat across from him.

"Hello Greg," Sherlock said as the waiter poured both of them water.

Lestrade had just taken a sip and almost choked when he heard Sherlock. After regaining his breath, he sputtered, "You said my name right."

"Yes, _and? _It's a special day," Sherlock said with a shrug.

The rest of the evening was made up of Italian food, Sherlock's treat, and casual conversation. They spoke about cases, present and past, then, when Sherlock was about to pay the check, he pulled a small package out from under the table and handed it to Lestrade.

"Happy Father's Day," Sherlock said with a strained smile, obviously trying to be polite.

"Sherlock, please don't force yourself to smile, it's insanely creepy," Lestrade replied as he opened the package.

Sherlock simply smirked in response and looked on as Lestrade's face broke into a small smile.

"Where'd you get this?" Lestrade asked, gesturing to his gift.

It was a photo, one taken from a far angle, obviously for use in a newspaper, back before the fall. In the photo, Sherlock and Lestrade were walking out of a crime scene; Lestrade was holding up the yellow tape with one hand and had the other on Sherlock's back as he maneuvered them away. Lestrade had a smirk on his face and Sherlock was showcasing one of his rare smiles, it was a brilliant picture.

"Paparazzi, Mycroft wouldn't let them use it so they had to surrender all their copies to me. It was an oddly good photograph, so I thought you might enjoy it," Sherlock said as he stood up from the table.

Lestrade followed suit and soon they were standing in front of the restaurant, about to head separate ways. Lestrade was about to hail a taxi when Sherlock suddenly said,  
"You know, you are a good father."

Lestrade was surprised in a good way and said, "You're not a bad son either."

They both grinned and shook hands, and then they each when back to their homes.

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Lestrade collapsed on his bed when a contented sigh and smirked as he thought,

_Sure, Sherlock. You're a real sociopath. Yeah, right._

**_Thanks for reading and so sorry for being late again! This week has been crazy with going out of town and then being sick. Also, school starts next week (ugh) so I will continue to try my best to update every Friday, but please bear with me if my schedule is sometimes a little off. I hoped you enjoyed this story! I absolutely love how Lestrade is so protective and father-like to Sherlock. Please review if you have a second and have a great week!_**


	9. The Bad Day

Sherlock had been reading on the couch when he heard Mycroft's footsteps coming up to the flat. Sherlock immediately sat up and placed his book on the coffee table.

John perked up at Sherlock's sudden movement and only then heard the footsteps also.

Mycroft walked right into the flat, not bothering to knock. This struck Sherlock as unusual, Mycroft _always_ knocked, something about diplomacy or something equally irrelevent.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said stiffly in greeting.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said just as coldly.

John cleared his throat and took this chance to stand up and greet the older Holmes himself.  
"Hello Mycroft, would you like any tea?"

"I won't be here long, John. Thank you for offering though," Mycroft said, glaring at his brother as he added the last bit.

John went into the kitchen anyway, watching the ordeal from a safe distance as he pretended to make himself a cuppa.

"Sherlock, did you work on the case I sent you earlier this week?" Mycroft asked in a voice filled with exhaustion.

"The flash drive is in the professor's wedding cake, it was the maid of honor," Sherlock said dismissively.

John had no idea what they were talking about; he didn't even know that Sherlock had been working a case that week.

"The ambassador will be pleased," Mycroft said as he left without another word.

As soon as Mycroft had closed the door to the apartment, Sherlock sat up and went quickly over to the window that faced the street. From there he watched Mycroft get into his car.

John could've sworn he saw a brief look of concern flash over the detectives face, but as soon as it was there, it vanished. When Sherlock turned to look at John, he just looked confused with his brows furrowed.

"Something happened today," Sherlock stated as he drummed his fingers on his lip.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

Sherlock brought his hands back down to his side and tilted his head slightly as he asked, "Did you really not catch that?"  
John clenched his teeth and let out a deep breath, he hated it when Sherlock assumed that everyone was on his level of genius.

"Obviously not," John muttered.

"Hm, well Mycroft was upset, he must have had a bad day," Sherlock said as he glanced back outside the window, seeing Mycroft's car disappear around the corner.

"And you care why?" John asked.

John had never seen Sherlock care about Mycroft, so why would he start now?

"Mycroft is the British government; I can't have him making irrational decisions based on sentiment. Oh," Sherlock said as he had apparently figured something out, something he wasn't letting John in on.

Frustrated, John broke Sherlock's silence and asked, "What? What was the "oh" about?"

Broken from his concentration, Sherlock looked at John and said, "Today is my father's birthday."

"Um, tell him happy birthday for me?" John added with confusion. Sherlock rarely talked about his family and John had never met anyone besides Mycroft.

"I can't, he died when I was fifth teen, while Mycroft was at university. I never liked the man, but he and Mycroft were quite close, that's probably why he still lets something as insignificant as a date bother him," Sherlock added causally.  
"Oh, I'm sorry Sherlock, I didn't know," John said uncomfortably.

"Why? I said I didn't like him. Either way, I must be off. I'll be back eventually," Sherlock said as he quickly threw on his coat and scarf and headed out the door.

"Sherlock? Where are you going?" John called from the top of the stairs.

Sherlock paused briefly as he turned around to say, "I must keep an eye on the British government."

And with that, Sherlock walked out of the building, leaving John to quickly throw on a coat and try to catch up.

John found Sherlock a minute later, walking briskly through an alleyway.

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After walking for what seemed like an hour, Sherlock stopped abruptly, causing John to smack into the thin man's back.

"Sherlock? Please tell me what we're doing," John said, exasperated.

"Mycroft is likely going to sulk around his flat for the night and drink too much alcohol, I'm trying to avoid that predicament," Sherlock said as his eyes darted up and down the dark street.

John took in the sight; the road was cobblestone and all of the houses looked exceptionally expensive. Lavish cars lined the curb and John had seen two patrol cars pass just in the last five minutes.

_This must be where Mycroft lives_, John realized.

Sherlock started forward after the patrol car turned onto the next street, walking briskly to the house directly in front of the alley. Without argument, John followed swiftly.

Sherlock rounded the edge of the lot and went around the back of the house, proceeding to sneak into a back window.

"Sherlock? He's the bloody British government! We can't just break in," John whispered furiously.

Sherlock turned back, already in the window, and offered John a hand, "Of course we can, you mustn't forget, the British government also happens to be my brother."

Begrudgingly, John took the extended hand and was pulled into the house.

Inside, the house was just as John would have imagined, everything was spotless and elegant. Antique-worthy furniture in all the rooms and the latest kitchen appliances; all plainly colored and arranged in a logical fashion. No excessive decoration to be seen.

"Okay, plan. _Now,"_ John whispered impatiently.

Sherlock sighed in exasperation before replying, "The only thing that will keep my brother from getting drunk and allowing sentiment to beat him, is a good puzzle. We are here to provide said puzzle."

"Right, how exactly?" John asked, hating it when Sherlock just assumed he knew what the crazy man was thinking.

"We improvise," Sherlock replied vaguely.

Within the next fifth teen minutes, John followed Sherlock's lead and helped the detective create an extremely elaborate puzzle throughout Mycroft's house.

Sherlock hid the alcohol, leaving the faintest of clues as to where he put it. A bit of chalk-dust in one corner, a smudge on the toaster (John didn't even ask), and a single cigarette by Mycroft's bookshelf. Once satisfied, Sherlock gave a nod of approval and left the house, John still in tow, back to Baker Street.

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Mycroft slowly got out of the black car and sighed as he made his way to his front door. He always hated September twelfth; it was his day of weakness, a shameful admittance of residing sentiment.

Mycroft walked into his flat and immediately sensed the shift. Someone had been in the flat. A small black hair on the floor mat alerted him that it was Sherlock. It took the elder Holmes less than thirty seconds to figure out the cause of his brother's break in. Mycroft worked diligently, savoring the puzzle that could challenge him only like one that Sherlock could create.

By the time he had solved the puzzle, it was after four in the morning and he was barely awake. He crashed on his bed and didn't wake up till noon the next day.

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Sherlock had been leaning over his microscope when he got a text, reading it, he couldn't help the smirk forming on his lips.

**Downstairs guest room, left-hand closet, behind your old pirate chest (God knows why that's still there). Do try harder next time, brother dear.**

**- MH**

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**Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :) I just love Mycroft and Sherlock's relationship. Okay, I have a little house keeping to do. First off, I'm moving my updating date to Saturdays instead of Fridays, it's just easier since school started back up. And, just for future reference, the stories I write aren't connected sense these are "one-shots." So, even though I don't plan to, if I ever bring in Sherlock's parents as alive and well, please don't be too confused ;) Also, please feel free to PM me and leave a review, I love the support this story has been getting! It's so amazing! You guys rock, have a good week!**


	10. Sweater Weather

John groaned as he hauled his suitcase up the stairs of Baker Street. He had been gone a week for a medical conference in Sweden and was a bit nervous opening the door to the flat. Sherlock could do a lot in a week.

Bracing himself for flaming curtains and body parts on the ceiling, John slowly nudged the door open. Inside was one of the most surprising sights John had ever witnessed.

Sherlock was curled up on the couch sound asleep, which in and of itself was not odd, Sherlock often passed out on the couch. It was what Sherlock was wearing that threw John off; he was wearing one of John's sweaters.

It looked unimaginably awkward on the tall man's lanky frame, too big in the middle and much too short in the arms. Nevertheless, Sherlock was sleeping soundly, surrounded by John's scent and familiarity.

Making a mental note to tease Sherlock about his supposed "lack of sentiment," John quietly, not to disturb the sleeping detective, took his suitcase to his room and quickly changed into more comfortable clothing. Officially out of his airport clothes, John tip-toed back into the living room and took in the sight of Sherlock once again. With a small smile on his face, John grabbed a blanket and threw it over Sherlock's sleeping form. Content that his friend was comfortable and warm; John made himself a cup of tea and took a seat in his chair. As he pulled up the newspaper from the coffee table, he couldn't help but think,

_Evenings like this will never get old._

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**I'm so sorry for the delay! To make it up to you, I wanted to give you this little Monday evening "treat" ;) I promise a full chapter by Saturday! And I have to give some of the credit for this story to Tumblr for talking about how cute it would be for Sherlock to wear one of John's sweaters :) Have a lovely week and please review if you have a chance!**


	11. Allergic

It was Molly's birthday, so the Yard had decided to throw her a party. Everyone came; John had even managed to drag Sherlock along, which was a miracle in and of itself.

Sherlock stood off to John's side, looking terribly uncomfortable. He wanted to complain, but he knew John liked these kinds of things, _social events_. _Ugh. _Sherlock had promised John that he would stay for at least half an hour, so he stood silently, only nodding occasionally when John referred to him. He only had seven minutes and eight-teen seconds to go when the cake was brought out.

Everyone cheered and, to Sherlock's dismay, began to sing "Happy Birthday" loudly as Molly stood by her cake and blushed. After the song ended, people began to form a line to get cake.

Sherlock wasn't much of a sweets person, but he got in line behind John anyway, not risking losing sight of his blogger.

When they got to the front of the line, Molly looked up in surprise,

"Oh hi, Sherlock. I didn't expect you to come," She said then immediately back tracked her words in her usual frazzled manner, "I didn't mean I thought you would be rude, I just meant that this isn't usually your type of setting. I don't mean you don't like parties, well you don't but,"

"It's fine, Molly. Happy birthday," Sherlock cut her off with a stiff smile.

"Oh, yeah of course. Thanks," Molly said as she blushed and pushed some hair behind her ear.

Sherlock was trying to think of a way to escape when he heard a commotion behind him.

He turned quickly to find a small crowd gathering around someone who had apparently fallen. Wait, _not someone, John._ Sherlock processed everything within and second and immediately rushed to his best friend's side.

"Move, move!" Sherlock shouted as he pushed aside the gawkers.

"John, what's wrong? Tell me what to do," Sherlock said, slightly panicked, as he leaned down to kneel beside the distressed doctor.

John tried to speak, but couldn't because his throat was closing up. All he could do was point to the piece of cake lying on the ground.

Sherlock understood immediately.

"I need an Epi-pen!" Sherlock yelled as he stood up and looked around the crowd.

"I have one!" A man shouted nearby as he thrust the object towards Sherlock.

"Call 911," Sherlock said as he leaned back down next to John.

Within seconds, Sherlock had expertly uncapped the Epi-pen and injected it into John's thigh.

Afterwards, Sherlock simply took John's hand and helped his friend remain calm as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

"You know, when I was little, I once climbed up the tallest tree in my backyard," Sherlock began his story, trying to distract John from his current lack of breathing; "I was an idiot, really rubbish climber. Even at age seven, I was incredibly tall and lanky, hadn't mastered my limbs yet," Sherlock continued as he got a small smile out of John.

"Anyway, I got all the way to the top of the tree and then lost the nerve to get back down. I had to wait two hours before Mycroft got back from his Model UN practice. It was terribly boring. When Mycroft got home, he took one look at me and sighed in that infuriating way he does, then came and started to climb up the tree himself. It took him another hour to slowly show me how to get back down, always one step ahead of me. Of course, once out of the tree, we never talked about the incident again." Sherlock finished just as the paramedics came running into the party.

Sherlock rode with John to the hospital. John passed out in the ambulance and they had to install an emergency breathing tube down his throat.

Sherlock stayed by him the whole time, claiming to be John's fiancé in order to get into the ER.

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John woke up slowly, feeling like complete rubbish. He sluggishly opened his eyes to take in the scene.

He was in a hospital bed, nurses rushing around outside his glass door. It was then that he noticed a slight tickling on his arm. Turning his head, he couldn't help but smile. Sherlock was all but curled up halfway on John's bed. The detectives head was resting on the edge of John's bed and Sherlock's hand rested softly in John's.

"Sherlock?" John asked softly, wanting to let him know that all was okay.

Sherlock stirred slowly, but once his eyes were open, he was wide awake.

"John? Are you okay? Do you want me to call the nurse? I should probably do that, or get you water. I'm not sure what order," Sherlock asked in a babbling way that was unnerving for the usually stoic detective.

John chuckled lightly, earning a confused look from Sherlock.

"Sherlock, I'm okay. It was a nut reaction, not a bullet wound. I'm really fine," John gave Sherlock's hand a light squeeze to reassure him.

Sherlock took a deep breath and sagged back into his chair, keeping John's hand in his.

"Well that's, um, good," Sherlock said finally.

John smiled slightly and said, "Thanks for everything; it was really stupid of me not to check the cake before eating it. I'm a bloody doctor for goodness sake! Anyway, thanks. The story was great, I really enjoyed the image of you acting the part of a pet cat," John finished with a smirk.

Sherlock's frown was immediate, "I was _not _acting like a cat! Fear of heights is a natural response developed after years of evolution and adaptation. Only the humans that are most fit to survive acquire it."  
Sherlock leaned back with a huff, obviously embarrassed.

John smiled, happy his plan worked. Defensive Sherlock was ten times better than guilty, unsure Sherlock.

"Whatever you say mate," John said with a small smile.

Sherlock conceded and returned a smile of his own.

"Just don't eat any more peanuts, John. I'd be lost without my blogger," Sherlock said without looking away.

"Never again," John promised.

Sherlock gave a stiff nod and went on to deduce the life stories of all the nurses.

John sat back contently and listened to his best friend's spiel, just enjoying the show.

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**Here is the chapter I promised! I hope you liked it and thanks so much for reading! All the support has been amazing :) I feel like Sherlock would be awkward when it's John who is injured, unsure what to do. If you have anything you want to see in future chapters, please feel free to leave a review of send me a PM, I love hearing from you all! Please review if you get a chance and have a lovely week! Also, sorry for the error when it first uploaded, don't know how that happened haha**


	12. The Chess Match

John groaned as he heaved his body up the stairs at 221B Baker Street. His day had been terrible. For one, all his patients at the clinic had been impossible to please, blaming him for their flu vaccines not working, cursing him for touching the tender spots that they had come in to get checked; there was just no way for him to win. Now he had to go face Sherlock and make sure his flatmate had eaten something that day, it was these moments that made John question if he was a fellow flatmate or a father.

Reluctantly, John pushed open the front door and went to take off his jacket. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock was sitting hunched over his microscope, genuinely oblivious to John's presence. John sighed and went straight to boil a pot of tea.

Sherlock finally noticed John when the man crossed the threshold into the kitchen and began to make a cup of tea. Sherlock frowned into his microscope as he tried to figure out why John was upset. John's footsteps were louder than usual, he hadn't greeted Sherlock like he usually did, and he now tapped his fingers on his pants as he waited for the water to boil. Sherlock thought that he should say something, maybe ask if John was alright or something else to convey his sentiment. However, by the time Sherlock had started to search for something appropriate to say, John was already walking back to his chair, tea in hand. It was then that Sherlock realized what he could do.

Standing up, Sherlock quickly went to his room and grabbed the worn chess set out of his closet. The detective proceeded to walk back into the living room and place the chess set on the table, simultaneously pulling the table so that it sat in between the two men's chairs.

John looked up wearily and said, "Sherlock, I'm really not in the mood to feel stupid right now."

John had never, _ever, _one a chess match against Sherlock. To be honest, John had never won _anything _against Sherlock. The detective was one of the most competitive men John had ever met, outside of Mycroft that is.

"John, how many times must I tell you? You are above average compared to your goldfish-like peers. Now, lets play."

John decided to take that last comment as a compliment and resigned himself to just get the game over with.

"Fine, Sherlock. Let's play."

Sherlock went on placing all the game pieces in their correct area and, once satisfied with their placement, he looked up at John and said, "Let the game begin."

John smirked, causing Sherlock to smile for getting the reaction he wanted.

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It was only three moves into the match when John noticed that something was up. Sherlock _always _won in three moves, it was that fact that made the game so infuriating. Yet, here they both were, already on move four, and John was still in good standing.

"Sherlock, you know you don't have to let me win," John said a bit amused.

Sherlock faked surprised and said, "I'm doing no such thing! It is only statistically probable that you would have improved by now, we play often enough. I am trying my best, John."

_Sure, _John thought. He honestly couldn't believe that Sherlock was actually letting him win. Sherlock never let John win anything, purposely or not. Sherlock detested losing in any form.

Two moves later, Sherlock had, without trying, put John into check. Immediately realizing his mistake, Sherlock pretended to look shocked at the door causing John, ever watchful, to turn and see what Sherlock was looking at. Sherlock took this opportunity to quickly move back his pieces and play a less intelligent move.

John knew that Sherlock had changed the pieces, he was just having too much fun watching Sherlock analyzing his moves in an effort to make John win that he didn't want to ruin it by exposing the man. By the time John had won the match, his sour mood was all but gone and he was laughing at the relieved look on Sherlock's face as he had finally finished losing.

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Long after Sherlock had cleaned up the chess game, John got up and went to head to his room to sleep. He stopped in front of Sherlock, who was furiously typing away on John's laptop, and said,

"I know you let me win,"

Sherlock immediately went to interject, but John continued,  
"Thank you."

Sherlock stared at the doctor trying to decide on a response, before simply nodded his head once and returned to his typing.

John gave a small smile and shook his head as he went to his bed. That night, he was able to sleep peacefully knowing that his best friend was in the other room.

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**Thanks so much for reading! So, as I'm sure you've noticed, I have not been updating on time the past few weeks. Saturday is really just a rough day that I strive for, however, I also have a crazy schedule every week. Also, if I have writer's block, I'm not just going to type up some quick story I'm not proud of just to update. My motto is quality over quantity. Now that thats done, thank you so much for reading! The support has been amazing and you guys are just brilliant. If you have a minute, please review! You're feedback really helps me :) Have a great week and just a little teaser here, I am currently working on two other Sherlock stories that I will publish once they are further along, so I'll let you know when those are up! Stay awesome :)**


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